Five Things That Never Happened to Casey Novak
by awesomesen
Summary: Five things that never happened, from the Mock Turtle to roasted almonds, with stops in between. Gen, First SVU 'fic, rated for the usual safety and the fact we're talking sex crimes


_Five things that never happened to Casey Novak._

_01. __All fall down._

When Casey was ten, she and her mother were in a car accident. She was sitting in the backseat, her seatbelt buckled and her copy of _Alice in Wonderland_ on her lap - Mother was sitting in the front, seatbelt undone and lipstick in hand. Casey survived; Mother did not.

She was ten years old and didn't very well understand what happened in the next few weeks, the police that asked her questions and the family. She felt fine, except for a sore stomach (from the seatbelt) and hurt neck (from the whiplash), but everyone kept hugging her and asking her if she was all right.

The police wanted to know things Casey didn't know, where the other car was, who was driving it, what her mother did. Casey wanted to help, and was too embarrassed to tell them that she had been paying attention to the Mock Turtle and his soup, not the road. They called her sweetie a lot, sweetie and honey and sugar and it's okay dear, you've done you best. Casey didn't like them much.

Daddy didn't want to involve Casey any more then he had to, but Casey was an expert at door listening and learned a little anyway. Even though Mother hadn't been wearing a seatbelt, even though she hadn't been paying attention to the road, the other car driver had still been drunk. Daddy wanted the man to go to jail. Casey wondered if the Drunkman - whose name was simply that to her - had a little girl of his own. She wondered if this girl liked Alice in Wonderland, too.

Drunkman was sent to jail for killing Mother, even though Mother hadn't been paying attention to driving either. Casey told that to one of the policemen, that it wasn't fair to send someone to jail for accidentally killing someone when the person he killed was not-accidentally not paying attention to driving the car, and the policeman frowned and smiled weakly down at her.

"Don't you worry about that, honey. The bad man is locked away in jail now, and he will be for a very long time. Your mommy can rest in peace now," he said, and offered to buy her a candy bar at the machine.

_02. Criminal_

Justin was mature for his age and several other ages, and even though he was only sixteen Casey found herself enjoying his company. Most guys her age were still immature idiots, worse since they'd all recently lost their virginities and were antsy for more, but Justin was quiet and smart and _cool_, cute in a still-growing sort of way.

He had gone to the college for summer classes, a special program for high-school students interested in getting a head start on their secondary educations. He wanted to be a lawyer, defending innocent people accused of awful crimes. When Casey asked him what he would do if he had a guilty victim, Justin had drawn a complete blank. He was naïve like that, and Casey enjoyed the feeling of grownup she felt around him.

For her twentieth birthday, Casey had had several friends over to her apartment for a party and dinner. She invited Justin over on a whim, and he stayed after to help her clean up - he was sweet like that, and Casey enjoyed the feeling of caring she felt around him. Did she manipulate him? Did he manipulate her? It didn't even occur to her for a week and a half after the fact that their jaunt had been illegal, that she could go to jail for sex with a minor.

But he had shyly kissed her mouth and told her he loved her, and Casey had so much enjoyed the feeling of superiority she felt around him…

_03. __Crowding_

Casey admired Alex from a distance all throughout high school, and why shouldn't she have? Alexandra -; an exotic-long name, much better then plain old Casey, belonging to a girl who was not only better but _knew_ it to be true - not that she knew who Casey was, besides perhaps that red-haired girl on Debate team. Alex who was pretty and smart and _mean_, Alex who was popular and yet held herself above her friends - Alex with the friends that let her be better then them. Alex who didn't get contact lenses even though they were cooler then her glasses, Alex who didn't care what other people thought and dated whoever she liked.

Much better then red-head Casey, plain-quiet girl who was smart and shy, girl who was told by her father to be more confident and girl who overcompensated for her fears by being angry by being bitchy by trying to be Alex… but Alex could get away with it, and Casey could not.

In tenth grade, Alex decided she wanted to be captain of the debate team since Corey was graduating. She would have to win the popular vote, but there might as well not have been one - Casey was not the only one in the school who admired her, and there was no doubt that Alex was _good_ at arguing, at remembering the little details and making her opponent look and feel foolish. Casey went home and told her father, excited like Alex was a friend, that Alexandra Cabot (_the _Alexandra Cabot, as father jokingly referred to her) was going to win the position.

"Why don't you run, Case?" Dad asked, helping himself to more spaghetti.

She patiently, blushingly told him that that was silly, it was like a baby fighting a giant, that there was no way someone like _her_ could hold a candle to (_the) _Alex, not when Alex was _so_ popular and _so_ cool.

"You never know until you try. It'll be a good experience," Dad said simply. "Pass the tomato sauce."

To her surprise, Casey _did_ sign up for the position, and Alex looked at her directly for the first time ever, raising an eyebrow and smiling in a cool way. She was clearly thinking that this odd-shy red haired girl didn't stand a _chance_ against the mighty Alex, and even though Casey agreed, she couldn't help but feel a spark of _debate!_ rise up in her. It was the red in her, Dad often said, since they weren't Irish. The red in her liked a good challenge, a good fight.

And Casey decided to _win_.

_04. __Movement_

Casey had a rabbit-complex, which was her own private term for the way she reacted to scary things - hold perfectly still, and hope they vanished on their own, which was exactly the wrong thing to have done in this case.

Before moving to New York, she had heard all the stories - about the robberies and the murders and the rapes the fights the drugs - but Casey had thought it was an exaggeration, just like people said everyone from West Virginia were incestuous, and everyone from Texas was dumber then dirt.

She had been told, "don't go out alone late at night," but Casey had taken three years of karate and figured she could take care of herself. Her cat, Buttons, was hungry, so Casey put a little can of mace in her purse and was careful to lock the door behind her.

What she couldn't get over was that she had _missed_. Everyone always said that mace would fend off attackers, buy you time to escape, but she had hit his ear not his eyes, and he kept moving and the can was just too small, too tiny. Button's food dropped on the sidewalk and the bag split, and Casey sat there and listened to the crunch of the man and smelt the peculiar combination of dry cat food and rain-wet cement.

She probably could have screamed or run, but instead she closed her eyes and hoped he would go away.

He did, eventually.

The police told her it wasn't her fault, that it was perfectly understandable that she was afraid. They sent her to the hospital, and the doctors called her honey and stitched up her cut cheek and then poked around down _there_, and Casey lay back and wondered if now was really the time to feel shy - not afraid, but shy.

The hospital smelt like plastic and bleach and something faint and sickly-sweet.

The Guy (she refused to think of him by any title or name, he was a guy so he would be The Guy) wasn't the cleverest one out there, and DNA convicted him. There wasn't even a trial, just jail. Casey remembered vaguely that DNA tests cost $600 each, and remembered feeling vaguely important that the world was willing to spend that much on her for no reason at all.

The police told her she was in denial, and gave her the name of a councilor.

Instead of going, Casey went running. She wasn't in the best of shape, but she ran all over Central Park until her entire body ached and her leg was cramped, running in circles and squares and not following any trail or route, just turning and going where she felt like going. After she couldn't run anymore, Casey bought a hotdog and took a cab home.

The next day, she went to a batting range. Casey had always loved baseball.

_05. __Order_

The others were a family, Casey had rather quickly realized. She knew all about the special sort of relationships cops had with their partners, of course, but this was different. More people were involved, for one, but there was something else about it - perhaps having to do with the nature of the crimes, a sort of group counseling therapy. Benson had invited her several times now to join them for lunch or drinks or whatnot, but Casey always felt like a third wheel. Not because they were cops and she wasn't, but… but because she was a lawyer and they were cops.

They worked together every day, she was friendly with them and they with her, but she didn't belong. She was Casey the ADA to them and to herself, she didn't exactly fit in and she never could. The others had been working together so closely for a couple years now, and she was just the new girl, who wasn't even a cop and couldn't shoot a gun to save her life.

Back in White Collar, Casey had hardly known the names of the cops that worked for her, had often stuck to awkward 'hey,' and 'um' instead of names. They didn't mind, because she was just Some Lawyer Chick and they had their partners, even in the relatively violence-free section of the law. When she transferred to SVU, Casey had decided to fit in. She used to sometimes go to crime scenes back in White Collar… of course, those had been crimes of money, not of sex and children.

Her attempt to fit in, to force herself in, had failed miserably, so she didn't try again after that. Casey would just never belong in the family, not really, not enough that it counted. They'd be upset if she was hurt, but not especially - just like she wouldn't cry much for them. That last leap to belonging - Casey had given it up completely.

"Hey, Casey!" Benson called, waving from across the hall. "Fifteen minute break, huh? You must be exhausted." She yelled this, walking over, speaking above the many other people in the hallway, stretching and releasing nervous energy during the recess. Casey had been preparing a speech, preparing a strategy for a trial that was on the verge of falling apart, her mouth dry and throat sore, her head hurting from paying such close attention to every move and word of not just the witnesses, but the defendant and the jury and the defendant's lawyer, too. She felt like curling up on the floor and sleeping, and wondered crossly how Benson could be so cheerful.

"Been watching the trial?" Casey asked when Benson was beside her, absently brushing her hair back and wishing she had a mirror. And a bed.

"A little," Benson said, smiling in a comforting way. "You look tired. Here," she said, holding out her hand. Casey automatically caught the package tossed at her, a small paper bag of roasted nuts.

"You look like you could use something sweet right now," Benson said, putting her hand on Casey's shoulder.

The bag was warm to the touch, and the almonds inside were sweet.


End file.
